The Hogwarts Quartet
by Kitthalia
Summary: After Professor Kettleburn retires, the Hogwarts Quartet has lost their viola player. Famous only in music circles and virtually unknown at Hogwarts, the quartet is forced to search for someone who plays the viola to their exacting standards. This could mean the end of their time as a quartet, or they need to find a student who is pretty damn good. Enter one Harry Potter.
1. Chapter 1

The Hogwarts Quartet

Severus Snape: Double Bass Player Extraordinaire

Minerva McGonagall: Master of the Cello

Albus Dumbledore: Virtuosic Violinist

After Professor Kettleburn retires to enjoy the use of his remaining limbs, the Hogwarts Quartet has lost their viola player. Famous only in music circles, both muggle and wizarding, and virtually unknown at Hogwarts, the quartet is forced to search for someone who plays the viola to their exacting standards. Unfortunately for them, this person has to be from Hogwarts, for both convenience and for the name of their quartet to remain. But the other teachers cannot play music to save their lives. Hagrid's flute playing is on the basic side, and is not a string instrument anyway, and although Flitwick can dance a mean jig, that unfortunately does not translate to musical ability. This could mean the end of their time as a quartet, or they need to find a student who is pretty damn good with their viola.

Enter Harry Potter. When he was seven, an old lady moved into a house a few doors down from the Dursleys. The Dursleys were quick to shun her and her "horrible screeching sounds". But Harry- well he always had an appreciation for music. In return for helping her around the house, Harry managed to get her to teach him to play her instrument of choice: the viola. Harry ended up spending most of his time over there, for the dual reasons of the music to learn and escaping from the Dursleys. When he was invited to Hogwarts, he was deeply sad to leave his only friend behind as well as the music he had loved. In the summers, he returned to her and the viola, only to discover, the day after his return from his second year, that she had passed away. Her son, cleaning up the house, said that she had left Harry her viola.

Before Harry jumped on the Knight bus, he made a split-second decision. He would take his viola to Hogwarts this year. He didn't know if he would play it, for he was still mourning the loss of his vibrant teacher, but he would take it, to remember her, and to keep it safe.

Ergo, when Minerva McGonagall ushered him and Hermione into her office after the incident with dementors on the train, she had the shock of her life. A viola player had walked straight into their lives. Now she only had to convince the others. Albus would easily acquiesce. But Severus- would he ever agree to play with the Boy-Who-Lived?

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was surprised, to say the least. The last thing that she had expected to see Harry Potter holding when he stepped out of the thestral-drawn carriage was a viola case. He had an owl, didn't he? But when he swung around to talk to Ronald Weasley, she could see his beautiful snowy's cage clutched in his other hand.

Minerva straightened her shoulders as swarms of children swamped her in their rush to enter the castle. She would not get distracted by the possibilities- she had other duties to do first. There was also the possibility that Harry was only at a basic level… No. She had other things to do.

"Mr Potter, if you could come with me. Oh, and you, Miss Granger. No, Mr Weasley, not you. You may proceed into the Great Hall."

She watched as the crestfallen youngest Weasley boy headed inside, and then turned sharply to head to her office, the two children at her heels. Now, Poppy was already inside, and after that fiasco (she held no doubts that Harry would not be happy to be examined by her overeager friend), there was only Miss Granger's timetabling issue to deal with. Hopefully the girl would not overtire herself in her enthusiasm. At least she was assured of her responsibility.

As she opened the office door and let the pair trail within before her, she snuck another look at the case. It was definitely for a viola, being just too big for a violin. She hugged herself in glee, whilst remaining her trademark stern persona on the outside.

Walking them down to the Great Hall for the feast, her excitement started to dwindle a little. Minerva knew that she was counting her eggs before they had hatched. She had no idea what sort of player the boy was, whether he'd had any training, or if his technique was miserable or not. Would he fit with the other players' styles? Albus had his own quirk, which permeated every piece he played, while she herself was quite adaptable, if she did say so herself. And what about Severus? He… Oh. Severus. That silly man still held a grudge against Harry for all that his father had done. Severus would not be happy to welcome the son of his childhood rival into their quartet. And Minerva could understand that, a little. What James Potter and his friends had done to poor Severus was quite despicable, actually. But to hold that grudge over to the child that had never known his parents?

She would see if he was any good, tomorrow, and then she would deal with Severus if it came to that. They needed a viola player, and Severus could not deny that. Kettleburn's retirement, although not unexpected, had left the remaining trio of the quartet reeling. They were the Hogwarts Quartet, and thus, they had to have members that were part of the school. The biannual classical wizarding music festival was occurring in the coming May of 1994, and they needed a player to participate.

Minerva was proud of all that they had achieved together. While not being known by the general public or to any of their students who did not have a musical background, the Hogwarts Quartet was quite well-known in both muggle and wizarding music circles. Severus had been the one to accomplish that feat, as neither Minerva nor Albus had fully understood how much larger the scope of the muggle music world was.

Dragging her thoughts back, Minerva noticed that they were at the doors to the Great Hall, and the muffled clink of china and cutlery, as well as the endless student chatter, permeated through the tick doors. As Miss Granger entered, she placed her hand on Harry's arm, stopping him from following her.

He looked up at her, with a bewildered expression on his face. "Professor, I really am fine. The chocolate was all I needed, really, and we're going to miss the feast if we're any later…"

He trailed away, looking down at his scuffed sneakers.

Minerva simply smiled. Just a small smile, but it was enough to get his wandering eyes fixed firmly on her face.

"Mr Potter- Harry- I did not stop you to discuss the detrimental effect that dementors have on you. I was wondering, actually, if sometime tomorrow you could visit me in my office with your instrument."

He gaped at her for a few moments, then, coming back to himself with an abrupt suddenness, closed his mouth. She watched him think for a few seconds, and then he nodded. "Yes, Professor, I'll be there."

He walked inside and over to his friends, who were chatting together, and throwing occasional glances at the Slytherin table, where that immature Draco Malfoy was posturing and pretending to faint every so often.

Minerva followed him inside, hugging her secret to her chest, and sat at the staff table. She didn't even care overly much when as soon as she lifted her fork, the dessert selections appeared. Severus looked at her askance when she ate her chocolate mousse without a word of complaint, as she had never been one to indulge in sweets. It was nice to throw him off balance every now and again. He noticed too much. This would be fun.

* * *

Harry was confused. He was also very, very tired. Sitting next to Ron and Hermione, he let their endless arguing about Scabbers and Crookshanks carry him through the feast without saying a word. Why had McGonagall wanted to see him with his instrument? She had looked as stern as usual, but she had been smiling- _smiling_ at him when she mentioned it. He felt at the handle protectively with his left hand, whilst drawing absent-minded patterns on his plate with the fork in his right.

It had felt strange enough bringing the viola to Hogwarts. He didn't even know if there was a music room there. He had never brought it before, as it had never been his before. But now that it was, he knew he could not possibly leave it at the mercy of the Dursleys. Dudley would probably use it as a substitute cricket bat. So he had brought it to Hogwarts.

He didn't even know if he would be able to play it anymore. The memories might overwhelm him. It had been nice, though, to have a part of her to keep with him. It made it seem as if all her lessons, her help, hadn't been a dream after all. Playing it would hurt too much, though. He hadn't played it since summer before second year.

At the beginning of the summer, the day after he had returned to the Dursleys', he had rushed over to her house only to find that she was no longer there. Her son had been there, though, and he was the one that broke the news to Harry. His teacher, his only comfort in his life before Hogwarts, was gone. She had died of a heart attack and had left Harry her viola.

Alexis Winters had lived alone in retirement. She had been a viola teacher until then. The day she had moved into Privet Drive, a few doors down from number four, the Dursleys had been eager to meet her and cultivate her acquaintance. That was until they discovered her love of "infernal screechings" in the form of her viola.

Harry had listened, seven years old, and known that he had found something to love. Something to work hard at. He had introduced himself, a small skinny boy with glasses that hung askew on his face. Alexis had been taken aback at first, but gradually they created a working relationship. Harry paid for his lessons by helping Alexis with her various chores, and Alexis found that she enjoyed teaching a student once again. They had been very good friends after a few years.

In actual fact, she was his only friend before he went to Hogwarts.

Harry rested his chin on his hand and closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to block out the exceedingly loud noise. He was getting a headache.

Alexis had left him her viola. It was an old instrument, but well taken care of. Her son, after much pleading, had agreed to keep it in her house until the end of summer, but refused after that. Harry had told him that they had a very rambunctious pet, and it would be in danger all the time from it. It was partially the truth, after all. Dudley was hardly more than an animal. The man had agreed, but he was selling the house after a month anyway, so it couldn't stay. Harry, after fleeing from number four after the incident with Marge, had remembered to collect it in a split-second of clarity.

Now McGonagall was interested. Harry had agreed to meet her, even though he didn't really want to. He just knew that you didn't say no to an adult like that. He supposed he should wonder why she was so interested, but found he couldn't be bothered to think about it.

He missed Alexis. She was so vibrant and enthusiastic and then she wasn't there anymore. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye.

No. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

It was Hermione. Trust her to notice something like that. Gathering his energy, he smiled at her.

"I'm fine. Just tired, really."

She looked at him concernedly. "Are you sure? Malfoy's such a prat, I know."

Malfoy? Oh, he was pretending to faint over and over again. Harry hadn't actually noticed, he was that out of it. It didn't seem to matter. Harry already knew he was weak.

His headache throbbed.

"Yeah, he's annoying. But I can deal. I just want to go to bed, you know."

As Dumbledore dismissed them, he hugged the case to his chest, standing still in the midst of all the motion. He watched as Ron and Hermione left, arguing once more, then walked after them in the wake that all the students had left.

He would slide the viola case under his bed carefully, then go to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Harry felt almost sick when he realised what he had agreed to. He knew that he wouldn't have done it if he wasn't tired, if he had been in his right mind. He should have evaded her, slipped away without committing to anything.

If she wanted him to take his instrument, she might want to hear him play. And he couldn't, not yet. It was still too close to her.

Harry had awoken early, the routine of summer with the Dursleys still ingrained into him. Sitting up in his bed, with the curtains drawn back, he knew that he couldn't face talking with any of the others. They would be all energetic, once they had woken up fully from their usual morning sleep-ins. Harry felt extremely lethargic, yet not at all sleepy.

He slipped out of bed, and once dressed, he walked down to breakfast alone.

The Great Hall was empty. The creaking of the large door as he opened it had startled him, disturbing the silence of the morning. Harry nearly turned back then, to go to his dormitory and wait for the others, irrationally spooked, but he overcame that impulse and went to sit down at the empty Gryffindor table.

He propped his head in his hands and waited moodily, examining the room. The ceiling was beautiful as usual, and watching the sky lighten helped keep his mind off Alexis.

With a pop, a single basketful of toast appeared at his elbow, along with a plate, a butter knife and some raspberry jam. Harry wondered how that had happened, then shrugged his question away as he picked up a slice. Magic, of course. It was Hogwarts, after all.

A while later, he noticed that another person had wondered into the room. It was another student, a second-year blond Ravenclaw, who was sitting on the floor before the dais, seemingly conversing quietly with the air around her. Harry shrugged, then took another bite of his toast. He knew that he had plenty of time before the rest of the school arrived. Most didn't get out of bed till quite late.

The next people to arrive in the Hall were teachers. Harry had nearly finished with his toast when Snape walked in. He ignored Harry except for an almost distracted glare as he moved to his spot on the staff table, his nose firmly in a book. Harry rushed to finish after that, as even a distracted Snape was not good, especially for a Harry Potter. He would be better alone outside. Of course, he knew he couldn't avoid his friends forever, as they would only become more tenacious, especially Hermione, but he just wanted to be alone.

Just as he was rising to leave, McGonagall and Professor Vector walked in, side by side. Vector walked straight to the staff table, but McGonagall headed for him. Harry heaved an inward sigh.

"Mr Potter, here is your timetable. I believe that after afternoon classes will be fine for you?"

She barely waited for his assenting nod.

"Good. I will see you in my office then."

As Harry left the Great Hall to retreat to the solitude of the lake, he couldn't help but wonder why she was so enthusiastic.


	2. Chapter 2

Ron and Hermione had ambushed Harry outside their first classroom, wanting to know where he'd been. Harry brushed them off, telling them that he had felt like a walk in the early morning. Ron had looked at him, shocked that anyone would want to do anything but sleep before breakfast, but Hermione had nodded in understanding.

At the end of their last class, Harry headed slowly up to his dormitory once more. Ron looked at him, confused, and then grabbed his arm to stop him. Harry couldn't help it- he flinched. It was only a small flinch, and he didn't think Ron or Hermione had seen it, but Harry knew he'd need to control that impulse soon.

"Harry, where're you going? I thought we were going to the lake."

He glanced back at Ron's freckled face, which was screwed up in confusion, and guilt swelled in his stomach.

"I'm sorry Ron, but I can't."

Harry tried to think of what more to say. McGonagall hadn't exactly been forthcoming. He didn't want either of them to know about his viola. It was too personal at the moment.

"McGonagall said that she wanted to see me, or something. I don't know why, especially after she already fussed over me last night. Perhaps she just wants to check that I'm fine."

Ron did not look totally convinced. "Sure, mate. She's a bit overprotective, isn't she?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Tell you what, I'll have a game of chess with you after dinner."

Ron looked appeased. Hermione did not.

"Harry, what about your homework? We've got ten inches for Professor Flitwick, remember?"

Harry looked her in the eye. "Hermione, there's plenty of time. That's not due til Thursday. McGonagall probably won't take too long. It'll be fine."

"If you say so, Harry."

The pair walked out into the sunshine, arguing about the necessity of doing homework as soon as possible while Harry heaved a sigh of relief and wandered up to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Harry stood outside of McGonagall's office for a good five minutes until he finally dredged up the courage to knock.

"Come in."

Wrapping his white knuckles around the handle of his viola case, Harry eased in through the door and stood uncertainly until McGonagall beckoned him to a chair in front of her desk. He cradled his instrument in his arms and sat down on the edge of the chair, ready to flee at any moment.

McGonagall was smiling gently. She was probably just trying to put him at ease. Harry knew that he looked like a frightened rabbit but he couldn't help himself.

"Mr Potter, that is a viola you are holding, if I am not mistaken?"

He nodded, then added in a wavering voice, "Yes. Yes Professor." By his second word he forced himself to project more confidence, and straightened in his seat.

The professor was now smiling even more. "Harry, can you play it?"

Harry couldn't stop himself from narrowing his eyes at her. What was she getting at?

"Well, yes, I suppose so, Professor. I've played since I was seven. But why…" He trailed off. It wasn't his position to ask questions of her, even if they really needed answering.

McGonagall now looked like the cat that had got the cream. Of course, that made sense, as she was able to transform into a cat… No. Harry needed to concentrate on right now, not on images of a spectacled cat curling up on McGonagall's armchair with a bowl of cream.

She had begun speaking once more as Harry shook his head to clear it.

"I apologise, Mr Potter, for not providing a sufficient explanation for all this." She gestured around the room at large. "I suppose that I was rather too enthusiastic… But I shall explain now. I am simply unused to divulging this to students."

Harry tilted his head at her in confusion, his arms still around the case, but remained silent.

"Tell me, Harry, have you heard of the Hogwarts Quartet?"

What on earth was she talking about? Harry shook his head and wondered how much longer she would keep him.

"Well, it is not to be expected, as it is only really known in music circles. I don't suppose that your relatives," she sniffed in disdain, "provided you with much art."

"No, professor."

"The Hogwarts Quartet is a string quartet composed of teachers from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are well known in both wizarding and muggle circles, although of course some aspects of our craft are not used when performing for muggles."

Harry was watching the professor, and with every sentence she said her eyes seemed to gleam. Clearly the woman was deeply invested in this quartet.

"Professor? Do you play in it?"

McGonagall smiled fully at him. It was a shock when compared to her usual stern outlook.

"I play the cello. Now, the reason that I brought this up is because of our problem. As I said before, the Hogwarts Quartet is composed of teachers from this school. However, this year, as you may know, Professor Kettleburn retired."

Harry nodded at that, starting to smile. "Ron and Hermione told me that Hagrid's now a teacher instead."

"Yes, that is correct. While this is good news for Rubeus Hagrid, unfortunately it means one of our four players is gone."

Harry was beginning to see where this was going. "Kettleburn played the viola, didn't he?"

McGonagall's eyes gleamed even more. It was almost frightening. "Professor Kettleburn, Harry. And yes, he did. Can you see what I am asking you to consider? None of the other teachers are able to join us, and Hogwarts is not a school that specialises in music."

Nodding slowly, Harry relaxed into his chair slightly. This was an exciting prospect. For a moment he considered it, but then remembered that he hadn't played in over a year. He wasn't ready to, yet.

Harry stayed silent.

"I am asking for your discretion in this matter. All three of us like our privacy, and our relatively unknown status helps with that. We will need to see if you can fit in with our playing styles as well, but that will have to wait."

Harry was thinking. He was quite good, well, for someone who was only able to play in the summer. His intensive sessions before Hogwarts and in the summer before second year had left him quite proficient, as it was his way to escape from the boredom that the Dursleys brought. He knew that he wanted to play in the future, and he couldn't imagine a life without it, but he still wasn't ready for the heavy emotions that would be brought with it.

"Harry, if you are amenable, I would like you to play a little for me so that I can judge you capabilities."

There were a few moments of silence as Harry struggled with himself. He knew that he would feel the pull to play sooner or later, and this really was a good opportunity. Finally, he made his decision.

"Professor, I can play for you, but would it be possible to hear you play first? It's been a while, and I don't know if I can just start like that. I mean…" He trailed off. Sneaking a glance at her, he was glad to see that she didn't seem angry at him for his presumption, merely thoughtful.

"I think that your request is reasonable. After all, I am asking it of you."

McGonagall stood up briskly, then strode to a tall mahogany cupboard behind her desk, Harry's eyes watching her every move. He saw her whip out her wand and move it in an intricate pattern before opening the door and retrieving a tall, battered case.

Noticing Harry's questioning look, she said, "It is warded. On one memorable occasion Peeves stole it and threatened to throw it in the lake before I got the Bloody Baron. He was quite subdued after that incident."

Harry nodded slowly in agreement. He could understand that moment of terror when something that one loves is being threatened. He wished that he could ward his case so that when he returned to the Dursleys they couldn't ruin his precious viola.

McGonagall's playing was brilliant. She seemed to be technically fluent and completely calm as she played a gentle refrain. Her playing somehow reminded Harry of sitting before a fire on a chilly winter's evening, and before he knew it she had stopped. It was far too soon. Yes, he had missed this.

Harry spared a moment's thought for Alexis before opening his own case and withdrawing his viola. As he rubbed rosin on his bow, he remembered the last time he had done this. It was the day before he had been locked in his room for the house-elf fiasco.

Thrusting all thoughts of that away, he chose one of Bach's viola solos. A sense of calm descended on him as he began. Even though it had been more than a year, he still remembered.

Harry knew that he wasn't playing to the best of his abilities, but when he lowered his bow, McGonagall still had that fierce gleam in her eyes. She smiled gently at him.

"Harry, that was beautiful. It's obviously been a while since you've played, but your technique is fine and I'm sure your style will fit well with ours. We can help you improve, and teach you some wizarding techniques for playing as well. So what do you think?"

Wizarding techniques sounded fascinating. Harry had absolutely no idea what they could be, but he wanted to learn. And mentoring would be great, too.

Yes, he would do this. For Alexis, and for himself.

He met her eyes with a quiet confidence. "Yes, professor. I will."

As he walked away down the corridor, he could have sworn he heard a muffled whoop. But McGonagall couldn't have done it. She wasn't _that_ enthusiastic, was she?

Harry pushed his thoughts away. It was almost time for dinner, and he needed to return his viola to its hiding place under the bed. McGonagall had said she would contact him in regards to the time of their first rehearsal. Now all he had to do was make an excuse for Hermione and Ron as to his non-appearance by the lake.

He was almost bouncing down the corridor. Everything just seemed so much better. Hermione would be pleased at the lift in his spirits.

However, after he had slid his case gently away, he was hit with a moment of doubt. He had never asked who the other players were. He stood still for a minute trying to think. None of the teachers gave any hints as to who it might be. Then he shrugged. He would know soon enough.

So, as Harry walked down to dinner, he amused himself with pictures of Flitwick trying to play the double bass.

* * *

Minerva was highly excited. Harry had been quiet, seemingly timid, not like she remembered him from last year. Of course, the image of him dripping blood and gore while hefting a sword after having saved Ginny Weasley did send an impression of confidence and bravery. But after a while, he had opened up more, and she could tell that he was hooked as soon as she had begun playing. Harry had seemed content in that moment, more at peace with himself than she had ever remembered seeing him. He had kept that aura about him when he played himself. This could only be good.

Filling out more paperwork did not appeal to her at this point in time, so filled with adrenaline was she. All she could do was laugh with exhilaration. Harry was really good for his age, and she knew that he had potential. This would help him and them at the same time.

She could not wait for Severus's reaction, though. It ought to be interesting, to say the least. And Harry too, might not be best pleased. But she was sure that Harry would try his hardest to get along with the antagonising potions master. Harry wanted this, she could tell. Severus would have to deal with it.

He would just have to accept it. They had to have someone from Hogwarts after all, and no better option had presented itself. He would moan and gripe about it, but she and Albus could get him to accept it in the end.

This was going to be fun.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry spent the rest of the week drifting between a state of anticipation and a state of melancholy. He had continued to wake early each morning, then go down to the Great Hall with his viola to grab a stack of toast before wandering out to practice outside near the lake. It was peaceful, and was the one calm moment of his day, for the lessons and breaks were full of Ron and Hermione's constant banter. They did wonder why he no longer went down to breakfast with them, but as he met up after they had been down there for a while after replacing his viola in the dorm, they didn't fuss too much. He had been telling them that he had been going on more walks in the morning.

On the Saturday he was just pushing open the door again to exit the Hall when McGonagall appeared round the corner and called out to him. Knowing that this was probably concerning the quartet, he halted. He didn't normally see her quite this early; it was possible that she was doing this simply to talk to him.

"A little before four in my office, Mr Potter."

She waited for his nod of assent before sweeping inside. Harry, after standing for a moment in memory of her rendition days before, hugged himself in anticipation of hearing the music again.

He then headed up to the dormitory to fetch his instrument. It made for a lot of extra walking, but he didn't like to carry it into the Great Hall for fear that someone might see it. That Ravenclaw girl appeared each day, and Snape had been there often as well, always engrossed in a book. He couldn't bear for the man to see it. His viola was private, and anyone not a musician would not understand.

His session by the lake didn't run as smoothly as before, now that he had an actual time approaching. Usually, when he picked up his bow he was no longer the Boy-who-lived, or Boy, as his relatives addressed him, or even Potter. He was only Harry and the music. But this time he fumbled a little, and didn't quite find the usual calm.

* * *

That afternoon, Harry didn't quite know what to tell his friends. They had spent most of the day by the lake, though Hermione had griped about how they ought to be doing their homework. She had compromised with Harry and Ron by bringing some with her. It had lain mostly untouched, though. They had argued and chatted and watched Crookshanks stalk butterflies instead of more scholarly pursuits.

The day was a beautiful one, with bright sunlight streaming through the leaves of the tree they lay under. Harry might have fallen asleep if it wasn't for his slight case of nerves.

At a quarter to four, Harry shifted from his position on the grass, sitting up and replacing his glasses on his face. He had been lying comfortably for a while, his eyes closed while he listened to Ron and Hermione talk. His stomach clenched. He would have to tell them why he was leaving.

"Hermione, Ron? I'm going, now. I think I'll see you at dinner. I'm just… err… just going for a run." He could hardly believe that that was all he could come up with. "I need to burn off some steam."

They both looked up at him confused. "Harry-"

"Bye!"

He jogged off. Harry knew that he would pay for his lack of explanation later, but he didn't want to be late because he was bogged down explaining things to his tenacious friends.

The corridors were thankfully empty due to the fine weather as he walked along to McGonagall's office with his viola. Who would be there? What were wizarding techniques? Harry's stomach wasn't exactly calm anymore.

McGonagall was standing outside her door with her cello case leaned against the wall. She was holding a huge armful of paper. Looking at it, Harry could see pages and pages of sheet music.

"Harry- good. Hold this, would you?" She dumped about half the pile in his hand, leaving a much more manageable stack for herself.

"Good afternoon, Professor."

McGonagall was quite obviously distracted. She only gave him a non-committal "hmmm" whilst paging through the papers, probably to check that it was all there. Harry just stood there awkwardly.

When she was finished, she refocused on him and nodded, picking up her instrument case.

"Follow me, Mr Potter, if you would."

He trailed her up and down staircases and through various corridors to a part of the castle that he had never been to before. Harry tried to concentrate on the way, but still was hopelessly lost by the end.

In front of a door that was unremarkable except for its carvings, which were of various magical creatures- Harry recognised dragons, a phoenix and a hippogriff among others- McGonagall halted.

"Harry, there's a small ante-chamber inside, where I would like you to wait. I just want to inform them that you will be coming, not have them startled when we descend on them with no warning. Is that alright?"

Harry nodded numbly. He didn't feel ready for this at all anymore.

The antechamber was small, a tiny room filled with shelves of what had to be music and a stepladder to reach the higher shelves. Harry sat himself on it, clutching his case to his chest. McGonagall gave him a short nod of approval that lifted his spirits before entering the room.

Harry could not hear a thing from inside, although they must have been talking or even tuning. It was probably soundproofed, perhaps with a silencing charm worked into the door. Was that possible? He'd have to ask Hermione, or even search for it in the library himself. She'd be sure to wonder why he was suddenly interested. The last thing he needed was Hermione's determined questioning of what he was getting himself into.

After a few minutes the door was reopened, and McGonagall emerged. "If you could follow me, please, I will introduce you to them."

Harry hesitated, struck by doubt. "Professor, I…" He gave her a pleading look.

She looked him in the eyes. "Nonsense, you will be fine. Come, now." And with that she entered the room. Harry could only follow her.

The first thing that Harry noticed was that the room was very light. There were floor to ceiling windows on two adjacent sides of the room, where light shone through. They were quite high up in the castle, so all Harry could see out of them was blue sky. The second thing that Harry saw was Albus Dumbledore in some horrifically bright orange robes, holding a violin. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore supported the Chudley Cannons like Ron, or simply had an extremely eccentric style of dress.

"Ah, so this is our mysterious new player. I must say that I did not expect this. Welcome." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Harry.

Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the travesty of the robes and gave a weak smile to Dumbledore.

McGonagall had been standing beside him in silence while Harry took in the room, but now she spoke.

"Severus."

Harry had a moment of confusion. Who was Severus? Then it clicked. McGonagall wouldn't address a fellow teacher by their surname, especially if they were fellow musicians.

A sigh came from the corner of the room, where a figure in black was crouching beside a box, hunting through to find something. Wait. Black robes. It was a Saturday. Black hair. Oh. Long black greasy hair. Oh no. It wasn't- It couldn't- How could they?

"Minerva, I will meet your viola player in a few moments, once I find what I am looking for. Stop pestering me."

Oh, yes, Harry knew that voice. It was confirmed. He definitely had the worst luck. First Aunt Marge, then Dementors, and now _this._ Harry knew that it had been too good to be true. Of course, a quartet had four players. He would have been perfectly content with just the other two.

McGonagall tapped her foot impatiently.

Harry glanced up at her in desperation, pleading for this all to be a misunderstanding. This couldn't be happening.

Her gaze back at him was only somewhat reassuring, but it stopped him from opening his mouth and asking her a question. Did she tell them who he was beforehand? Or had she simply said that she had found a viola player from the students? Because he was willing to bet on his life that Snape had no idea that Harry Potter would be there.

McGonagall coughed pointedly. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more. Harry held his breath.

He would not run. He was brave, a Gryffindor. He had fought a basilisk, for Merlin's sake. Yet somehow this was even more terrifying, and Harry didn't feel very strong.

Snape straightened up. "Fine, Minerva. Fine." He sounded extremely disgruntled. Harry was so not ready for this. How could McGonagall and Dumbledore just stand there so calmly? They must have nerves of steel.

When he turned around, Harry tried to shrink into himself.

The outburst was not as immediate as he would have expected. Noticing him, the sallow man for a second was silent, his face a mixture of confusion, betrayal and ire. Then it came.

Snape burst out a "You!" in a loud, tight voice that screamed of tension to Harry. Then he turned to the woman beside Harry. "Minerva McGonagall, I-"

In a split instant, he turned a deadly calm that scared Harry more than his previous outburst. Pointing at the door, he said silkily, "Potter, out."

Harry went, glad that he hadn't set his viola down and was able to move with more speed. As he rushed to the door, McGonagall called after him.

"Just into the antechamber, Mr Potter. Close the door after you."

Harry shot through the open door and immediately closed it. Well, most of the way, anyway. He left a tiny crack, enough so that the silencing charm didn't kick in. He needed to hear this. It would determine his fate in the quartet, and while he hated the idea of working alongside Snape of all people, he would play nice if it meant he could hear McGonagall play again. He needed the music.

The sound through the almost-closed door was barely audible. Harry had to strain to hear what they were saying, and forced his breathing to slow and his heart to calm down. The charm or whatever it was on the door must have been partially in effect, as he didn't believe that Snape's anger would be particularly quiet or restrained.

Or maybe they were trying to be quiet, restraining themselves. Perhaps it was a combination of both.

Snape's voice, though faint to Harry, in no way sounded content.

"Minerva McGonagall, what were you thinking? How could you let that boy…? What possessed you… imbecilic…"

Harry wondered whether Snape was referring to Harry or McGonagall. He leaned closer, annoyed at the gaps he couldn't hear.

"Allowing the students to… private life of their teachers… especially that one!"

McGonagall's voice broke in at that. "Of course, Severus, it always comes back to that."

"… Reckless, inane, just like his… What?"

Harry could hardly resist a slight smirk at the surprised suspicion in Snape's voice. He suspected that McGonagall was going to get the better of the greasy git this time.

"Why, Severus, your hatred of the boy's father, and your determination to take revenge on the boy for that."

There was silence. Harry could almost picture Snape, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, stunned at her pronouncement.

Wait… what? His father? Snape knew his father?

Harry supposed that it could be possible. Did Snape teach his father? He dismissed that almost straight away. Snape couldn't be that old. Could he?

Maybe they had gone to school together.

McGonagall was talking again, and Harry threw his confused thoughts out of his head to listen in more. He was practically pressed against the gap at this point.

"Severus, I know that you don't like this, but really. I am the only one who has managed to find a replacement viola player for the quartet, and unless you want us to disband altogether as a quartet, and withdraw from the competition I'm afraid you will either have to find another player from Hogwarts or put up with it."

Snape's voice was weak as he protested.

"Minerva, I-"

"Severus, you know that we need someone from the castle for this. The logistics otherwise would be a nightmare, and it goes against our whole idea. Yes, a student is not ideal, but at least Harry has five years left at this school, so it isn't as it we are only taking on someone for the year.

"Harry is his own person, you know. Perhaps with some time you will be able to stop superimposing James over the top of him. He can play well, too."

Snape seemed to disbelieve this statement.

"Minerva, quite frankly, I do not see how a thirteen year old boy could qualify, especially one with as little academic focus as Potter."

McGonagall's reply was swift.

"Severus Snape, I heard him play. Trust me on this, he is capable. Yes, he needs more technique, and he seems somewhat rusty, but I can tell that he will improve. I would swear on it."

There was a silence for a minute, and Harry guessed that the two were at an impasse.

McGonagall sighed, breaking the tense atmosphere.

"I am just asking you to try it. Hear him play, let him play with us, learn a little technique, and we can reassess if we need to in a few weeks time. But really, Severus…" She trailed off.

"Fine. Fine. I see that I am outnumbered here, as you both are intent on this. But I will be watching and judging him all the way. One slip…"

"Shall we get him to return, then?"

Harry reared back, so not to get caught, but then leaned back in cautiously. Was that Dumbledore? He had been silent for the rest of the verbal sparring…

"… an idea. Perhaps, you would be able to relate to him better that us old ones, Severus?"

Snape's voice sliced through the air, precise and cutting. "Precisely what are you suggesting, Headmaster?"

"My dear boy, I simply thought that you could aid him in this venture… a little mentoring?"

McGonagall and Snape spoke in unison at that, and Harry could not blame them. That idea was absurd.

"Albus!"

Snape would never agree to that, and Harry would avoid it to the best of his abilities as well. McGonagall seemed to agree that Dumbledore's suggestion was ridiculous, and Harry was thankful of that.

"Of all the things… Sweet Merlin, the room would never be the same, Albus. I'll get him in now, I think, if we all agree?"

Harry quickly made his way back over to the stool and sat down, placing a bored expression on his face. That had been enlightening, and rather interesting, too.


	4. Chapter 4

As Harry was ushered back in the room by McGonagall, he tried not to look as if he had just been eavesdropping on the heated conversation that had just taken place. None of the teachers seemed to have noticed that he might have listened in; although Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when they rested on Harry, but they did that usually anyway.

The silence was tense, and as Harry dragged over the chair that McGonagall had indicated to him, his stomach clenched a little. There was no way Snape was going to be anything but mean, and even if he tempered his spite in the presence of Dumbledore and McGonagall, he'd probably just use it as an excuse to torture Harry in class even more.

They were now sitting in a loose semicircle, Harry between Dumbledore and McGonagall, and Snape next to McGonagall. McGonagall and Snape were seated on black stools, while Dumbledore and Harry had chairs with no arms. Harry's was too big for him, and he had to perch on the edge in order to rest his feet on the ground. He cursed once again being one of the smallest in his year, and almost in the school. He supposed that the years of not getting enough to eat had taken its toll on him, for he had hardly grown for the past few years. He hoped he was due for a growth spurt soon. It would be nice to be taller that Hermione and the other girls. Even Ginny was taller than him.

Settling his viola on his lap, the case at his feet, he rosined his bow while waiting for something to happen. Harry wasn't exactly sure of what would happen, but as he slid the rosin up and down the length of his bow, he found himself becoming slightly calmer. McGonagall was tuning, Dumbledore stared off into the distance, and Snape seemed to be tapping his bow impatiently against his leg.

At Snape's pointed cough, Harry fumbled his hands into position, holding the bow loosely at his side, trying to stop his gazing at the others to appear focused and diligent. He suspected that no one was fooled by his act.

Snape coughed once more, his sneer becoming more prominent.

"Well, boy, I personally would like to hear some proof that you are at least minimally capable of playing that instrument." The tone spoke that his precious old viola was not worthy of its name.

Harry hugged his instrument closer, then, as McGonagall gave him an encouraging smile, lifted it up. He could do this. For Alexis, and for himself. She would have wanted him to have this opportunity. He only wished that he could show her what he would learn.

At the conclusion of the same piece that he had played for his Head of House, he lowered it awkwardly, not used to having an audience larger than a single person. This audience was also particularly strange, with Dumbledore's clapping and gentle smile contrasted to Snape's fixed expression.

Harry tightened his hands around the neck of his viola. He didn't really know what to do now, so he settled for staring at his curled hands.

"Well now, Severus, I hope that you realise that Mr Potter is entirely capable."

Dumbledore added to that with a "Yes, well done, my boy".

Harry knew that he couldn't expect much from Snape, so he was pleasantly surprised when Snape said, with an air of long-suffering,

"I suppose that he is… adequate."

Looking up at the comment, Harry saw that the man looked as if he were chewing on a lemon. He supposed that it would be too much to ask for Snape to accept him right away. He could tell that Snape still didn't want him to be a part of the quartet, and would probably jump at the chance to get rid of him.

Dumbledore moved his legs out in a stretch, and Harry was bemused to see such a mannerism on the old man.

"Well, now, Harry, I think that it is only fair that you hear us play individually as well. Perhaps you might decide that we aren't comparable with your own talents."

Harry was startled to see McGonagall roll her eyes, with a faint smile on her face. He supposed that she probably would relax in the company of other teachers, especially on the weekend, but it was simply surreal. His eyes were probably rather large.

Snape scoffed, and said derisively, " _That_ is hardly the case. I do not wish to make a spectacle of myself in front of a little boy, however."

Harry bristled at that. Little boy, indeed!

"I-"

His voice was fortunately drowned out by McGonagall's.

"Severus, you old prune."

Harry stifled a laugh. She must have forgotten that he was there. Teachers didn't usually contradict each other in front of students, though you could often tell when they were disliking something one was saying, like how McGonagall's lips got thinner, and her silence became frostier. That had happened a lot last year with Lockhart.

"Minerva!" Snape's hiss, and his glance at Harry, seemed to show that he, at any rate, hadn't forgotten him.

"Just because you are self-conscious doesn't mean that we all are. I, for one, have already demonstrated for Mr Potter. Surely you, as a Slytherin, understand the notion of quid pro quo?"

Dumbledore chimed in. "To add my knut's worth, I do believe that this is fair. Severus, really, he will hear have to hear you play eventually."

Harry twined his fingers as Snape grudgingly uttered a "Fine."

"I'll go first, shall I?" Dumbledore lifted his bow and dipped his head to McGonagall. "Since the lady has already gone?"

Swinging his legs up onto the seat to get comfier, Harry was ready to listen. It would have to be good. This was _Dumbledore_ , for God's sake!

After the first bar or two, Harry recognised the piece. Of course, this would be the sort of thing that the headmaster would play. But there was something different, for all that. It wasn't just the way that the piece was played, but the way that the music seemed something more than when Harry had heard the recording. It made him almost feel that he was actually in a field filled with wildflowers, watching-

The music stopped, jerking Harry out of his thoughts.

"How was that, my dear boy? The Flight of the Bumblebee, one of my favourites."

Harry's eyes were shining with delight. "It felt as if I could nearly see it going! How on earth did you do that? It was almost like magic!"

Snape let out a harsh bark of laughter, a sour look on his face. "You idiotic boy, of course it was magic."

"Now, Severus, Harry hasn't experienced that before. Has he, Minerva?"

Before she could say anything, Harry burst out, "I have, haven't I? You were doing it, only not as much, when you played your piece. It made me feel like I had just come inside after a walk in the snow." It made _sense_ , now.

The woman smiled at him gently. "Yes, I used a little then. Not much, though. We'll teach you how to do it, and you'll find that the effect is much stronger when we play as a quartet."

"You ought not to interrupt, Potter. Also, get your feet off the chair."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and swung his legs off.

"Deplorable manners…"

McGonagall, thankfully, decided to move things along. "Severus, your turn now. What have you got for us?"

Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, Snape said nothing.

Harry hadn't expected much, but he knew that he hadn't expected whatever he was hearing. He supposed that if he had had time to think about it, he supposed that he would have imagined Snape to be very rigid in his playing. It turned out he was anything but that.

Snape was totally absorbed, and his dour look faded away from his face once he had started. The man's movements had a presence that caught Harry's attention and wouldn't let it go.

Harry knew that he had never heard the piece before, almost right from the beginning. The enchantment, now that he knew what he was looking for, was very strong, stronger than the others had been. Harry could nearly taste brackish water, and when the man did a series of descending arpeggios he breathed in the mist of the air near a river. The shifting modulations were a slight pollution. It made him feel like he was intruding in someone's memory, and left him slightly uncomfortable.

As Snape ended on a quivering note, Harry vowed to himself that he would play like that one day, with such a fluidity and feeling. If Dumbledore had entertained him, and McGonagall had made him feel safe, Snape's music was pure _life_ , uncomfortable yet wonderful.

The sound of clapping brought Harry out of his introspection. Dumbledore was applauding, and McGonagall was sitting very still with a rather vulnerable look on her face.

"Well done, Severus! Is this what you have been working on over the summer, then?"

At the headmaster's words, Harry noticed that McGonagall came to herself with a jerk.

"Yes, it was beautiful," she said.

Snape brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of his face while he was playing. "You are correct, Albus. I finished it only a week ago, and am still deliberating on a name. As a miniature, I feel it ought to be descriptive but can come up with nothing better than _By the Mill, By the River_ , which is grammatically confusing, or _The Mill by the River,_ which is prosaic."

Harry, at this point, knew that the man had probably forgotten that he was there. The man's tone was actually conversational. It would be nice if that continued, but he had the feeling that it was probably better if it didn't.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry said, "I liked it." Then he closed his mouth quickly. That was not what he had been meaning to say, but it was true. Of course, it didn't mean that he liked the man any better.

Snape didn't seem to know what to say to that, and the silence was broken by Dumbledore, who seemed to have taken on the role of mediator.

"Well, I think that we have done enough for today. Harry's friends must be wondering where he is, and it is almost time for dinner."

That surprised Harry- it seemed like it had all gone by in a mixture of extreme quickness interspersed with moments that were agonisingly slow, like when he had been waiting for Snape to notice him.

"Next week, same time?"

They all agreed on that.

As Harry walked out of the door carved with magical creatures alongside Professor McGonagall, he realised that Snape would probably be horrible to him in Potions Class. The man had a habit of venting his frustrations on Harry, and Snape could probably be very mean without ever referencing _why_.

Oh well. The music would be worth it. Just.


	5. Chapter 5

"How was your run, Harry? You were gone for an awfully long time."

Harry ended up being a little late for dinner, as he had waited until all the other Gryffindors had gone before entering the common room to put his viola away.

"Oh! Err, it was good. It's nice to just run, sometimes."

"Where did you go, then? Ron was saying that his brother Charlie used to go for runs around the grounds to increase his stamina. Is that why you are running?"

Harry slowly put down his fork and tried to marshal his thoughts into order. "Well…"

"Let him eat, Hermione," Ron interjected. He ate a forkful of potato salad, then said, "Bloke must be hungry after all that running."

"Oh! Don't mind me, then, Harry." But then she said pointedly to Ron, " _Some_ people can eat and talk at the same time."

The boys burst out laughing at that, Ron barely managing to keep his food in his mouth.

"Come _on._ You _know_ that wasn't what I meant." She folded her arms crossly and glared at them. "Chew your food, Ron."

Harry grinned openly for the first time that evening.

* * *

Lying in bed that night, Harry decided that he would have to think up a few more details about the running story he had given Ron and Hermione. He didn't like lying to them, but an explanation would be more trouble than it would be worth, as they would want to know _everything._ It would just be too painful.

He rolled over and tried to get to sleep, his brain just too fuzzy to think of details now. Tomorrow was Sunday, and he intended to get a lot of things done, including a practice in the morning. If he wanted to get up early, he needed to go to sleep soon.

But half an hour later, he was still not asleep, and his bedclothes were tangled from trying to find a position comfortable enough to sleep in. Harry sat up resignedly and padded softly out of bed. At the window, he drew the thick red curtain and peered out onto the grounds. They were bathed in moonlight, and perfectly still.

Harry let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding and slid to the floor, leaning against the glass. There was a gently breeze wafting the leaves of the trees every now and then, and Harry fell asleep watching it.

* * *

On Monday, Professor McGonagall had them transfiguring pencils into quills. It was a tricky transfiguration, as they all had to be able to prove that their quill was usable, and not just a feather. Harry managed, after three quarters of an hour, to transform his pencil into a neat quill, and thus managed to avoid being told to practise for homework, though McGonagall _had_ commented on the messiness of his writing. Hermione had a tidy row of quills in different colours and styles, while Ron's was bedraggled and looked as if he had been chewing the end of it.

Before they could leave, however, Harry was called back.

"Yes, Professor?" He asked, extremely conscious of the fact that both his friends were waiting just outside the door. If she kept taking him aside to talk to him, they were going to get suspicious.

"I remembered this morning— here." She took a thin sheaf of paper off her desk and handed it to him. "It would be splendid if you could try and sight-read a few of these before next Saturday, Mr Potter. A few works from wizarding composers. If you have any troubles just ask me. Some of the notation will be unfamiliar."

Harry peeked at the first sheet. "I'll do that, then, Professor." He carefully slid them into his bag. "Thanks."

McGonagall nodded at him in dismissal, a slight smile curving her lips.

"Bye, Professor," he said as he hurried out the door to his friends. Perhaps he could tell them that she had warned him to be especially careful with all the dementors around.

* * *

The week passed by almost too quickly for Harry. Classes were picking up speed again, and the students seemed to be getting a lot more homework this year with the added electives. Even though Harry had quickly come to the conclusion that Divination just required a lot of bluffing and imagination, there didn't seem to be as much time to just be with his friends as before.

On Saturday, the trio spent a few hours in the library, doing their homework. Hermione had argued that they had better do it first, and had prevailed because it was quite cloudy outside, and starting to spit. But after working their way through their Charms essay, as well as the comparative table and sketches for Herbology, they decided that a break was necessary. Well, Ron and Harry did. Hermione seemed to think that her time could be better spent doing Arithmancy.

After a few minutes of squabbling, Ron ended the argument by stealing Hermione's textbook. Hermione immediately gave chase, calling out, "Ron, I _need_ that!" Their thumping footfalls and the raised voices drew Madam Pince, who evicted them both despite Hermione's arguments.

Once Harry had brought all of their things out of the library, Hermione shouldered her bag with a great huff. Ron took his with a smirk and a wink at Harry.

"I know what you were doing! Ron Weasley, how could you get me thrown out of the library? Hermione's tone of voice indicated that she could think of nothing worse.

Harry tried to repress a smile, but unfortunately Hermione noticed and, with a loud _thwack_ , hit him on the shoulder with her Arithmancy book. "And _you._ You were no help. I need to _study,_ you know."

"Come on, Hermione, we needed a break anyway. It's nearly lunchtime, too. We have all weekend." Ron's voice was cajoling, though he was still smiling in pleasure at his success.

Harry agreed, pointedly rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, Hermione. And I don't think I could write with this anymore." He gave her an exaggerated look of pain. "Oh, it hurts… the agony…"

Hermione was clearly resisting the urge to hit him again as she told him, "That's your left arm, Harry."

"So?" Ron cut in.

"He's right-handed. Which means that he can still write perfectly well. And I didn't even hit him that hard."

Harry gave off rubbing his shoulder at that.

"We may as well just go down to lunch, now, though," Hermione continued. "Now that we can't study in the _library._ "

They all trooped down to the Great Hall, Ron speculating about what might be on offer.

* * *

While they were having lunch, Harry glanced up at the enchanted ceiling, and nearly moaned in horrified disbelief. The clouds from the morning hadn't gone away: if anything, there were more of them and they were darker than ever. While he was eating, and then joking with Ron, he hoped in the back of the mind that—

"Oh look," Hermione said off-handedly. "It's raining."

—it wouldn't rain.

Of _course_ it would. What was he thinking? Harry Potter never got anything his way. Now he wouldn't be able to say that he was going for a run, for who in their right mind would do so in the pouring rain? It wasn't even falling lightly— no, it was lashing down.

Harry took a piece of apple and bit into it with more force than usual.

Later, when they were just hanging around the Great Hall chatting to Neville, Harry tried to think up excuses that would work. The problem was that it seemed he would be going _every_ Saturday afternoon, and he needed something that would work again— either that or he would have to become very creative and hope that Ron and Hermione wouldn't get suspicious. But who was he kidding? They had been solving mysteries and poking their noses into things that probably weren't their business since nearly the beginning.

The running excuse would work for any day that it was fine outside, but that would become unlikelier as they approached Winter. And running just a day a week might not seem realistic— if he truly wanted to get fit that way he would have to do it more regularly.

What if he said he was running around the castle instead? He could say it was sort of like an obstacle course. Hermione would say it was unsafe, but he could reassure her that he was only doing it in deserted corridors. Or would she think that even less safe?

Yes, he could say that. He'd just tell her she was a worrywart. Good. Sorted.

"— and I think that Harry'd like it too."

"Huh?" Harry blinked and swivelled his head round to look at Ron. "Sorry, didn't catch that."

Ron and Neville looked at him askance, while Hermione said, "Keep up, Harry."

"I said that maybe we all could have a chess tournament, and have a prize at the end for the winner," Ron explained, looking rather smug with himself.

Harry thought that Ron might be presuming a little, especially because he would most likely the one to win. "With just us? Not much of a tournament."

Ron shook his head, ginger hair flying about. "No, a _Gryffindor_ tournament. I just said that."

"Oh. Okay." Harry thought about it for a minute. "I don't think I'd get very far, but I spose that it might stop you trying to thrash me all the time if you have other people to play. I'd support that."

Hermione's expression was one of exasperated fondness.

"Well, if you thought about your moves more you could do quite well. Last time, if you had just used your knights better—"

Neville, surprisingly, interrupted him. "It's a plan, then. Why don't we go up now and see who is interested?" He looked like he regretted his forwardness almost as soon as he finished speaking.

"Yes," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "No point hanging round here anymore. C'mon, Harry, Ron." They started moving up the first of numerous flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

The common room was packed, as no-one was out on the grounds due to the rain. Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson were debating quidditch plays in one corner, a group of first and second years were playing exploding snap, and the Weasley Twins were practising colour-change charms by turning everyone around them into various fluorescent shades. Harry didn't find it too hard to slip away when it was time for him to leave, especially because he could hardly have been missed. They had all split up to chat about the possibility of a chess tournament with other people anyway.

In his dorm, which was mercifully quiet, Harry stretched his arms out as far as they could go. He had felt quite pent-up in the packed room. Taking a deep breath and relaxing a little, he reached under his bed and retrieved his viola case. Then, in a moment of brilliance, he scrambled over to his trunk. His _invisibility cloak_. Perfect for a little avoidance.


End file.
